The Night of the Deadly Opera
by Andamogirl
Summary: Episode-tag. This story takes place directly after the end of "TNOT Whirring Death." Artemus Gordon accepts to sing the lead role in the opera "Fidelio" at the demand of an old friend of his, Signore Modena, the conductor of the Roma Orchestra. Dr. Miguelito Loveless and Voltaire are still around, preparing something wicked.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY OPERA**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: Season 1. Episode-tag. This story takes place directly after the end of "The night of the Whirring Death."

Reference to TNOT Whirring Death and to my story "The Night of the First Mission".

I wanted to write a story focusing on Artie's musical talents and in the first place on Ross Martin's musical talents. We can see Artemus sing (in Italian) in TNOT Whirring death - under the name of Arturo Caruso dell' Artemo (baritone) and he's the playing piano in TNOT Grand Emir (playing an excerpt of The Emperor Waltz by Johann Strauss) and in TNOT Cut-Throats too (he's a piano-man in a saloon). He's playing the flute in TNOT Returning Dead; he's playing the guitar and sings (in Spanish) in TNOT Spanish Curse and he's playing the violin on TNOT Casual Killer (playing a very short excerpt of a Nocturne by Frederic Chopin). Ross Martin was really playing that part in the episode and he was a very talented violinist.

In TNOT Whirring Death, Artemus as Arturo Caruso dell' Artemo tells Bessie Bowen that he will sing _Fidelio_ for her, on the opening night at the opera, but he didn't… Well, he will in my story.

I couldn't help but put a swordfight in my story too, after I watched the famous swordfight in "The Great Race" between Tony Curtis and Ross Martin. It was a good movie. We can see Ross Martin use a sword in TNOT Big Blast and in TNOT Lord of Limbo.

Quote:

 _Bessie: And all I try to be is a little bit good. And where does it get me? Blown up with a lousy Italian tenor._

 _Artie: Baritone._

 _Bessie: Oh, stop that sweet talk._

TNOT Whirring Death

Warning: graphic depiction of violence.

Many thanks to my beta reader Old Toad.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _San Francisco railing yard depot_

 _The Wanderer_

Signore Giulio Modena shook James West's hand. "Welcome on board the Wanderer, Signore Modena, it's a pleasure to meet you."

The bald little man smiled broadly. " _Buongiorno Signore West_ , it's a pleasure to meet you too." He looked around him both surprised and amazed. " _È molto bello_! It's a beautiful train that you have here."

Smiling, Jim gestured to the sofa. "Yes, we call it home. Please have a seat. Artemus should be here in a moment. He asked me to tell you that he is sorry not to be able to welcome you personally, but he had an appointment with the Governor. He's on his way back." He took a place on the golden upholstered sofa beside the Italian conductor. "So, you knew Artie when he was a boy? How was he, tell me, I'm very curious."

Signore Modena smiled. "Oh! He was a fine boy, Signore West. He was gentle, always polite, well-behaved, and he was very intelligent and he had a great sense of humor. He was always drawing: plants, trees, dogs and cats… everything! He was sculpting things too, like horses and cows. He was building things too, like miniature paddle wheels on the river, miniature wind mills on top of the hill… For example, he built his first violin when he was seven! It wasn't a working model, just a dummy, but it looked like a real one, in each tiny detail… He started learning to play the violin at six. He was singing in the local church choir too, and he had a strong clear voice for a little boy. He sang _come un piccolo angelo_! I was his professor of violin and the choirmaster too. A good friend of mine, Alexis Grapper, was giving him piano lessons too and the boy was very good. He could play any instrument. I remember that his first girlfriend, Celia, gave him a flute for his fifteenth birthday, and one week later he was playing like a true professional. I had great hopes for him, he could have made a great professional musician, played concerts… or be a great singer and sang operas… But he chose another path after having graduated from secondary school, when he was seventeen: acting."

Surprised, Jim lifted his eyebrows. "I didn't know that. Artie's a very private man. He almost never talks about himself."

Modena made a face, disappointed. "I was so disappointed he chose that path." Then he smiled broadly, very proud of his former pupil. "Artemus graduated summa cum laude, you know? He was the highest academically ranked student in the class. He was the valedictorian!"

Standing, Jim moved towards the table and lifted the jug of fresh coffee sitting there. "Do you want some coffee Maestro? Artie prepared it before leaving."

Modena shook his head. " _No grazie mille_ , thank you very much Signore West."

Jim poured himself a cup, then he joined the old man sitting on the sofa. "Artie's still playing the violin and the piano you know, and he's very, very, good, very talented," He said. "He could join any famous orchestra, anytime if he wanted to."

Modena nodded. "Yes, but in my opinion he has wasted his talent. His place was in an orchestra as first violin or on the stage of opera houses as a lead singer, not on the stage of showboats playing comedies. He should have accompanied me in Italy when I left for Rome. With his voice and a lot of training he would have made an amazing tenor! And sung at La Scala at eighteen! But he refused and left for Chicago and joined a troupe there." He shook his head bleakly." He huffed out a breath. "So much talent wasted."

Jim took a sip of coffee and defended his best friend, "But he chose acting. He was an excellent actor before the war and played lead roles in famous plays, in many theaters, but it's true that he toured on showboats. He's still a great actor because he uses that talent for playing different roles in our missions. He can play any role – women included – he can take any accent and he speaks several languages fluently: French, Spanish, Italian, Russian, German... Artie's multi-talented, Signore."

Modena nodded. "I'm not surprised; he was already multi-talented at six." Intrigued, he asked, "So… he's a Special Agent now, working for the President?"

Swallowing a mouthful of coffee, Jim nodded. "Yes he's one of the best. Did you plan to stay long in San Francisco?"

Modena shook his head. "I'm here for one performance of _Fidelio_ with the Roma Orchestra, and then I will go back to Paris and after that to Madrid. I'll be here one week only."

Standing, Jim sat the empty cup on the table. "Artie was very excited when he knew that you were here, in San Francisco with your orchestra. He immediately sent someone to fetch you from your hotel to bring you here. When was the last time you saw him?"

The old conductor rubbed his chin pensively, "That was before he left home to join an amateur troupe in Chicago. He was seventeen."

Curious Jim asked, "How was he at seventeen? I mean what he looked like?"

Modena smiled. "He was tall and slender with wild long dark curled hair. He was a handsome young man, and girls were literally fighting each other to have him as their boyfriend. He liked flirting a lot, but it wasn't serious. I remember that he was in love with a lovely brunette girl when he was sixteen. Her name was Lily… Lily Fortune. His heart broke when she left for the West with her parents. Poor boy! He cried for three days and was inconsolable for two weeks."

Jim nodded. "They will meet each other one day, perhaps. Who knows? Life is full of surprises. He's forty four now and he has changed a lot since that time…" The door opened and Artemus Gordon entered the parlor car. "Well, see for yourself…"

Modena stood, smiling broadly. "Artemus!"

Tbc.


	2. Act one

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY OPERA**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

Beaming, Artemus took the old man in his arms and hugged him. "Signore Giulio, _sono così felice di rivedervi!_ I'm so happy to see you again!" he said before parting from the other man, tears of joy in his eyes.

Signore Modena patted Artie's back. Then, parting from the younger man he observed Artemus from head to toe, smiling. "You're now a tall, strong and solid man _il mio ragazzo_ , and you're handsome!" he said. "Are you married?" Artie shook his head. "No? Why? What are you waiting for? … You're not getting any younger you know. Oh, I know why. You like chasing girls far too much, right my boy?"

Blushing, Artie looked at his feet, embarrassed. "Er… I rather do enjoy female company … But I don't chase after women."

Jim shook his head. "No, women are chasing you, Artie, that's different. You're the most popular and courted bachelor in the Capital."

The older agent chuckled. "True, and for you it's the rest of the country, buddy."

Modena placed a frail hand on Artie's chest and tapped it gently. "With such a broad chest and a deep voice, I hope that you're still singing."

Artie smiled. "I actually played the role of an Italian baritone during my last mission. I was Arturo Caruso dell'Artemo."

Sitting on a chair beside the table, Jim smirked. "Sometimes he's singing when he's cooking – or taking his bath. But he has a nice voice," he said.

Modena smiled. "Then you are a baritone?"

Giving his partner a black look, Artie said, "Actually I'm a tenor, but I can sing a countertenor part on my good days. I can be a baritone too, but not too long. It's exhausting. I can modulate my voice easily. When I disguise myself as a woman for assignments I use a voice whose range is close to the female soprano. Actually I could play a whole opera just by myself!"

Giulio Modena grinned. " _È meraviglioso_! That's wonderful! Actually, my contralto Elena Mioggi is sick – she has a sore throat and lost her voice. I was desperate to find someone to replace her. But I have you Artemus. Contralto is applied to female singers; men singing in a similar range are countertenors – like you."

Stunned Artie blinked twice. "Me?... But I haven't sung anywhere but in the galley or in my bath for years! And you need me to play a part in an opera? I can't. No, no, no. Thank you, but no thank you."

Modena nodded. "I need you, Artemus. _Ho bisogno del tuo aiuto,_ _I need your help_ _._ The performance of _Fidelio_ is scheduled in two days, and I won't find anyone in such a short delay. You will play the part of Leonora, the leading role. You do still have a photographic memory right? You read one thing once and it's inscribed in your memory, right? Then learning the part in so little time won't be a problem for you, and the opera was translated in English, it would be easier for you, you won't have to sing in German. And as you can disguise yourself into a woman easily, that's absolutely perfect! Please, my boy, I need your help…"

Surprised Jim asked, "Leonora? A woman? You want him to play a woman and sing like a woman? You can do that buddy?"

Raising his chin defiantly Artie said, "Of course I can." He glanced down at the old man looking at him with pleading eyes and sighed in acceptation. "Alright, I'm your new contralto – I mean countertenor. It's lucky I'm on a vacation. I had planned to go fishing…"

Modena took Artie in his arms. "Thank you, Artemus! Thank you very much! _Grazie mille_." He took a step back and said, "Instead of going fishing, you're going to sing on a stage!" He took Artie's hand in his. "There's a rehearsal scheduled tonight at seven at the opera house. I will have to find someone to modify Leonora's costumes so they fit you…"

Raising his hand Jim intervened. "Don't bother Signore Modena. Give them to Artemus, he's a god with a needle and thread. He creates his own costumes, you know."

Modena was very surprised and then relieved. "Good! Good! There will be two other rehearsals tomorrow for the musical and singing parts this time, one at nine AM and a second one at five PM. Then two others: Wednesday morning at ten AM, an open dress, where family and friends of the cast and reviewers from the media will be there, and then, finally, at four PM, it will be the full rehearsal with all the costumes, scenery, music, etc., just before the first real performance before an audience at the opera house. At six PM I'll conduct the opera _Fidelio_ , and President Ulysses S. Grant will be there, _è un grand onore_. It's a great honor."

Blanching, Artie stuttered, "The Pre-pre-president? He'll be there?" He grimaced and paled, feeling butterflies in his stomach for the first time in many years. "Oh boy!"

In fact, the last time he had had performance anxiety was when he had sung in front of his parents for the first time, he was six, he remembered. After that, that horrible sensation of intense anxiety associated with pounding heart, abundant perspiration, shaking, wobbling legs and dried mouth had vanished like by magic. He had loved being in front of an audience, he was like a fish in water, he reflected.

Until it came back – now.

Pouring himself another cup of coffee, Jim said, "Relax Artie. Everything's going to be alright." But Artie wasn't convinced of that, he noticed. "You see Signore Modena, President Grant had kind of… adopted Artemus during the war; he's like a son to him. Playing Leonora in front of the President will be like playing and singing in front of his own father… " He smiled mockingly, "That's why Artie has a severe case of stage fright right now…" He took a sip and added, "Don't worry buddy, I repeat: everything's going to be alright, and I won't tell President Grant that it will be you under the wig and dress of Leonora – or I will, I don't know that, yet." Then he chuckled, ignoring his partner's "I'm so going you to kill you" glare aimed at him.

Modena patted his former pupil's arm. "Artemus will be perfect in that role. Actually, it's a bit more complicated Mr. West. You see Artemus is a man, and he'll play the role of Leonora – a woman, who will disguise herself as a man, Fidelio. The opera tells how Leonora, disguised as a prison guard named "Fidelio", rescues her husband Florestan from death in a political prison."

Jim softly laughed. "You're saying that Artie, who is a man, is going to play a woman who disguises herself as a man? That's interesting. I'm looking forward to seeing that opera."

He ignored another icy glare from Artie.

Modena took Artie's hand in his. "He'll be perfect, I'm sure! Tell me that you have a violin and are still practicing, my boy."

Artie nodded. "Yes, I play the violin regularly."

The old man smiled and took his place on the comfortable sofa again. "I'm glad to hear that Artemus. Could you play something to me?"

Smiling, Artie nodded. "With great pleasure. Just give me two minutes to get my violin and a score. I'll be right back." then Artie left the parlor car.

Artemus was back shortly after, holding his violin and a score. He placed it on the table, leaning it on the coffee pot, and settled his violin on his left shoulder and chin. "For you, Master," he said. He cracked his wrist and flexed his neck, before placing the bow on the strings. "Chopin, Nocturne in E flat major, opus 9, number 2. It's my favorite piece."

He began to play. For him everything but music ceased to exist.

He lifted the bow a few minutes later when the piece was finished; lowering his violin he looked at Signore Modena. The old man was crying. "Are you alright?" he asked anxiously.

Modena nodded, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. He was now beaming, his hand above his pounding heart. "No, no, no… _è stato bello, è stato bellissimo_. That was beautiful, Artemus." He stood and took the other man's hands in his. "I'm so proud of you my boy!"

WWW

 _Three days later_

 _San Francisco's Opera House_

 _Dress rehearsal_

Feeling light-headed, Artemus looked at his trembling hands holding the score where the music and the lyrics of Fidelio, Act II, scene III were written.

Everything was blurry.

He gritted his teeth. 'Come on Artie! You faced the enemy on battle fields without a single tremor and you have stage fright? Get a grip old man!' He thought. 'You didn't have stage fright during the earlier rehearsals, this one is the last, yes, but it's not different from the others.'

Sweating profusely, his heart pounding in his chest, he glanced around him. Everyone was staring at him, musicians, singers, the choir, the extras… all waiting for him to be able to sing.

He relaxed his limbs and the nape of his neck, took a series of deep breaths, and made a few vocalizations before nodding.

He was ready. "I'm ready," he said.

Signore Modena nodded. "Alright, everyone, we start again where we stopped the last time. That was Act II, scene III, the quartet between Leonora, Rocco, Florestan and Pizzaro." He hit his music stand with his baton, lifted it and the music began.

The four singers began their parts:

David Jones playing Florestan started, singing: "A murderer stands before me!"

Carlos Rodriguez playing Pizarro sang in his turn: "No more will I withhold my rage… There is but an instant between thee and death, and thus I sate my fury…" Raising a dagger he tried to stab Florestan who took hurriedly a step backward.

Immediately, Artemus Gordon (disguised as a blond mustached man and playing Leonora) sprang forward with a piercing shriek, and opened her arms wide, protecting Florestan with her body. "Back, tyrant!" He sang with a perfect tenor voice.

Florestan, who was surprised: "Oh, Heaven!" he sang.

Bernado Tiffo playing Rocco sang in his turn: "What would'st thou?"

Leonora: "Wouldn't thou stab him? Through this breast to his! In vain shall be thy fury. With my body I'll protect him."

Pizarro thrusted Leonora away. "Madman!"

Rocco looked at Leonora, "Oh, desist!"

Pizarro frowned angrily, looking at Leonora: "He shall be punished."

Leonora moved again in front of Florestan, shielding her husband with her body again, arms wide opened again and sang with a countertenor voice. "Kill first his wife."

Pizarro was stunned: "His wife!"

Rocco was very surprised too: "His wife!"

Blinking in total surprise Florentina sang: "My wife!"

Leonora looked at Florestan and removed her blond wig and false mustache, revealing long dark curled hair adorned with red ribbons. Then she removed her tight male jacket showing her blouse and her (false) bosom. She smiled tenderly. "Yes, your own Leonora."

Florestan smiled broadly, amazed: "Leonora!"

Leonora turned to the others and sang, fists tightened, ""I am his wife, and have sworn to save him and punish his oppressor."

Pizarro looked to the side, and aside he sang: "What unheard of courage!"

Florestan smiled broadly, overjoyed, "My heart now throbs with joy!" He sang.

Rocco grimaced and sang, "Terror my blood congeals!"

Leonora raised a closed fist: "His rage I defy!" She sang.

Pizarro grimaced with rage: "With rage I am o'erpower'd! Shall I before a woman tremble? Thou also shalt fall before my rage! Stand off, or thou shalt share his death." He stopped singing and then advanced, raising the dagger.

Leonora suddenly drew a small pistol from her (false) bosom and pointed it at him. "Another word, and thou are dead!" She sang.

Suddenly the sound of a trumpet was heard coming from a tower at the end of the stage (a trumpeter was perched on a cardboard tower).

Pizarro took a step back, grimacing, upset: "Ah! The Minister! - Hell and death!" He sang.

Surprised Rocco sang: "What is that? Just Heaven!"

Pizarro and Rocco stood confounded. Leonora hung onto Florestan's neck, burying her face there as the trumpet sounded louder.

Signore Modena stopped the music and the singers stopped singing. They looked at each other and grinning, they applauded each other.

WWW

 _Later, in Artemus's dressing room_

Artie was combing the hair of his long dark-haired wig, sitting on the head of a mannequin, when he heard a knock and the door opened.

He smiled, seeing Jim enter the room. "Hiya Jim."

Holding a rolled newspaper under his arm, the younger man sat on a spare chair and said, "Hi Artie! I know that I shouldn't have been here, but I was hiding in a box on the first storey during your last rehearsal, and you were absolutely wonderful!"

Stopping what he was doing, Artemus, blushing with pleasure, said "You really think so? Honest? You don't say that because you don't want to hurt me?"

Smiling, Jim nodded. "You were great, buddy. Honest! I really loved it when you removed your blond wig – revealing another wig…" He pointed at the long and dark haired wig. "That one… a very feminine wig with the red ribbons. I can imagine that all the people will be surprised tonight – a man who is actually a woman! – and a man, a real one…" He opened the San Francisco Gazette and pointed at an article on the front page. "A journalist was present at the open dress and he wrote an article about the opera… He wrote: blah, blah, bah… Ah! That's my favorite part! Listen, I quote: "The lead role of Leonora is played by Artemus Gordon, who accepted the role at the demand of an old friend of his, Signore Modena, the conductor of the Roma Orchestra, to replace at short notice Signorina Elena Mioggi who is suffering from a sore throat. Artemus Gordon, who is better known to the public as one of the best special agents working for President Grant, sings surprisingly very well with both a tenor voice and a countertenor voice. It's very rare they say. No doubt that President Grant will appreciate Gordon's hidden talent as much as I have appreciated it."… What do you think?"

Blushing with pleasure, Artie said, "I like it… let's hope that the President will like my performance too. Oh boy! I'm so anxious…" Frowning in worry he looked at his right hand – trembling.

Smiling Jim patted his partner's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't be, buddy. You were great and I'm sure that President Grant will love your performance."

Combing his wig again, reassured a little, Artie nodded. "I hope you're right."

WWW

 _Later, in the presidential box_

President Grant lit his cigar and turned towards Colonel James Richmond, head of the Secret Services sitting at his right next to his best friend and personal physician Dr. Henderson, Colonel and CMO of the Washington Military Hospital. "I'm looking forward to seeing Artemus," he said and then he chuckled. "That man will never cease to amaze me! He's going to sing the lead part in an opera. Incredible!"

Colonel Richmond nodded. "He can do anything Sir, he's a multitalented man. I'm not surprised he can sing a part in an opera."

Grant smiled. "And play a _woman's_ part, no less. It won't be the first time he has played the role of a woman. He has done it at least three times already."

Henderson shook his head and corrected, "Four, Sir. The last time was six months ago. He was disguised as a red-haired Artemis McGordon when he captured the ex-confederate Colonel Ford-Belmont who had tried to assassinate you, Sir – and ended in hospital with a bullet in his leg." He pointed at the big black bag sitting at his feet. "I came with my medical emergency kit, Mr. President, just in case. Artemus Gordon and his partner are magnets for trouble and bullet magnets too."

Jim West entered the box shortly after and bowed respectfully. "Mr. President, Dr. Henderson, Colonel Richmond, my respects, Sirs. I know that I'm on a vacation, but I just reviewed your security detail Mr. President, force of habit. Everything is perfect." He smiled. "Now excuse me, Sirs. I have to go to my place in the front row. It's going to begin soon."

Grant patted the empty seat at his left side. "Seat down here, Jim. You'll have a better view here and the sound is better too."

Smiling Jim accepted with pleasure. "Thank you Sir." He took his place in the seat and looked down at the empty stage and closed curtain.

Signore Modena entered the vast room a couple of minutes later, baton in hand and joined his musicians already there to the applause of the spectators.

He took his place behind his music stand, lifted his baton and the music of _Fidelio_ , written by Ludwig Van Beethoven in 1805 began.

WWW

 _Much later, on the stage_

Rocco and Florestan moved hurriedly through the Guard and the People, heading towards the Minister, Don Fernando standing between Pizarro and his officers.

On the left side were the State Prisoners accompanied by Jaquino and Marcellina. They all threw themselves on their knees before Don Fernando.

Rocco and Florestan did the same shortly after. Then, the chorus of Prisoners and People began. Finally, Leonora, Rocco, Florestan and Pizarrro did their parts.

In the middle of the last scene (Act II, scene VIII), Rocco sang: "The monster, within this very hour, had planned to do a deed of murder on Florestan."

Pizarro sang: "Murder! On him!"

Rocco pointed to himself and Leonora. "Yes, my lord! He sought to involve us in his crime, but your arrival upset his plans," he sang.

The chorus sang: "Punishment befalls the wretch, who oppresses the innocent; Justice holds aloft, for punishment, the sword of Revenge.

Don Fernando turned to Rocco and sang: "His threatened death has been averted! Now, take off his chains! Yet, stay! You, heroic woman! You, alone, deserve the happiness completely to set him free!"

Leonora grabbed the keys, and beaming with joy hastened to unfasten the chains which bound Florestan, who rushed into her arms. He hugged her, kissing her on her forehead.

Leonora, tears of joy streaming down her face, sang: "Oh, what a moment!"

Florestan grinned, crying with joy too. "Oh, happiness inexpressible!" he sang.

Relieved, smiling, Don Fernando sang, "O heaven! How just are all thy judgments!"

Rocco and Marcellina sang ensemble: "Thou triest—but dost not forsake."

The chorus sang, "Whoever has possessed such a partner of his heart, let him join in our jubilee! Never can the praise be too loudly sounded of the wife that is the preserver of her husband!"

Florestan sang, "Thy fidelity has restored me to life! Thy virtues have unnerved the wicked!"

Opening his arms wide, then resting his hand on his false bosom, Artemus sang, "Love guided my endeavors, such true love as never knows…"

But he didn't finish his sentence. A frown crossed his face.

Pause.

One of the soldiers of the opera guard was pointing his rifle – with a scope - in the direction of the auditorium, in the precise direction of the presidential box, he noticed with dread. He immediately leapt on the extra at the same time as the man pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Tbc.


	3. Act Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY OPERA**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

BANG! The shot got lost in the music and no one reacted, the spectators thinking that it was part of the scene. A few of them even applauded its realism.

The bullet hit the side of the presidential box, dislodging a piece of gold-painted plaster. A little to the left and Grant would have been a dead man.

Reacting immediately, Jim jumped on President Grant, pushing him to the carpeted floor and took his Derringer out of his inside pocket in a flash. As for Colonel Richmond and Dr. Henderson, they hurriedly crouched behind the front panel of the box.

At the same time, on the stage, the singers finally registered that something was definitely wrong when the actor-guard stabbed Artemus with his bayonet, and they progressively stopped singing.

This was not written in the opera libretto, they thought.

Grimacing with pain, Artie let out a choked gasp and sank to his knees, pressing his hands on his right side, blood escaping freely between his fingers.

Enraged to have missed his target because of Artie, the assassin lifted his rifle again, pointing the bayonet at the other man's head.

In a flash, Artie pushed it to the side – cutting the palm of his left hand - and mustering all the strength he could manage, he punched the shooter right in the stomach.

The phony guard was thrown backwards, wincing and breathless, and dropped his weapon on the stage. Pulling a knife from his belt, he moved towards Artie – murder in his eyes. He was stopped by a bullet which caught him in his leg, and a second one lodged in his shoulder a split second later. He collapsed like a deadweight to the wooden floor and was almost immediately swarmed over by armed policemen. Others quickly evacuated the now fearful and agitated spectators.

In the Presidential box, Ulysses S. Grant propped himself on his elbows. "I'm fine," he said to three pairs of very concerned eyes.

Relieved like the others, Jim said, "Stay down Sir."

Grant nodded. "Good idea, Jim. I have no intention ending up like President Lincoln. And damn good reflexes too, thank you."

Moving to his knees Jim threw a glance over the front of the box, down to the stage. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Artemus struggling with an actor-guard. "Artemus!"

WWW

 _Shortly after_

Putting his small gun with which he had shot the assassin back in his pocket, Jim jumped onto the stage and knelt beside Artemus writhing on the stage, curled around himself in a trembling ball, his hands pressed on his bloodied side and bleeding profusely. "Artie! I'm here buddy," he said. He grabbed Artie's hand and they interlaced their fingers. "Please don't die Artie ..." He blanched as the blood pool around his partner's body was increasing rapidly. "Stay with me Artie."

Through clenched teeth, Artie let out, "Not… planning to go anywhere… Trying to stay alive." He grunted. "Ow! That hurts!"

Stephen Henderson, holding his big black bag, joined the two agents crouched on the other side of Artemus, and said, "Fortunately I had the good idea to bring my medical kit, as if I had had a premonition. I'm sorry Artemus, but I need to see the wound." Then he coaxed him into uncurling. He ripped Artie's bloodied clothes to get access to the wound. He quickly assessed the extent of the damage, then said, "Put your hands on the wound and apply pressure, Jim!" and Jim instantly did that.

Immediately Artie yelped and then whimpered. "Hurts!"

Jim removed Artie's long haired wig, putting it aside, and stroked his partner's hair soothingly. "I know Artie, but I have to do this, I'm sorry."

Henderson groaned and checked his patient's pulse. "Don't release the pressure, Jim!"

Blinking tears away, Artemus looked into Jim's worried eyes and then whispered, "The President? He… he's alright?"

Feeling his partner's blood running between his fingers Jim nodded, his heart pounding in his chest "Yes, he's alright and safe. You saved his life. You're going to be okay, Artie."

Going numb and cold Artie smiled, his vision going blurry and blackening. "How… was I?"

Swallowing hard, fighting welling tears, Jim cleared his constricted throat and did his best to smile to hide his concern. "You were great! The President loved your performance Artie. I was with him, sitting at his side, he enjoyed every second of your performance buddy…" He lost his fight and then the tears came. "Stay with me buddy…"

Reaching a trembling hand out, Artemus brushed Jim's wet tears, leaving traces of blood on the other man's wet cheeks. "You're crying…" His hand suddenly went limp as he was losing strength rapidly. "Oh boy! Then I'm dying…" He realized in a haze, cold spreading throughout his whole body. "Not going to make it Jim… it's the end of the road for me." "I'm… I'm sorry Jim… m' so co-co-cold…" He tried to curl up again to keep himself warm. But the surgeon's strong hands straighten him out. "No! Don't move."

Dr. Henderson shook his head. "Don't move Artemus!" he repeated. "It's going to make the bleeding worse. Now listen to me, you're not dying. The wound bleeds a lot yes, but it's not fatal and I don't think that any organ is damaged. But I need to operate on you to be sure. You could be bleeding inside too." He smiled reassuringly. "You were very lucky, as usual, Artemus. You have been stabbed in the fleshy part of your side." He fished an already filled syringe from his black bag and pierced Artie's neck with the point of the needle. "It's a fast-acting painkiller which happens to have a secondary effect as a sedative." Then he administrated the drug, watching Artie's eyes fluttering close a few seconds later. "You're going to be alright, Artemus." He gestured towards two policemen holding a stretcher and a blanket. "Here!"

Immensely relieved by Henderson's words, Jim smiled. "Heard the doctor Artie? You're not dying buddy; you're going to be okay."

Giving a nod, Artie slurred, "Oh boy!... that's too bad… It was almost the end… of… the opera… Couldn't wait five minutes 'til it was finished… " He finally slipped into a deep slumber.

The two men jumped onto the stage, and sat the stretcher on the stage. Henderson gently positioned Artie on it and took the relay – pressing on the stab wound. "We're going to take him to the hospital, as soon as possible," he said to the policemen. He watched two other policemen lay the bleeding assassin, passed out, onto a second stretcher. "Follow us."

Holding Artie's hand Jim accompanied the two men holding the stretcher. "You're going to be alright Artie," he said to an unconscious Artemus.

WWW

 _San Francisco general hospital_

Dr. Stephen Henderson opened the door of the operating room, and was immediately surrounded by Ulysses S. Grant, James West and James Richmond, all three very concerned.

The surgeon smiled reassuringly. "I have already said it several times, but Artemus Gordon is really indestructible," he said. "He's going to be alright. He was very lucky – as usual, I should say. His intestines and stomach were not penetrated and the knife only brushed his liver, making a small cut there. There was an internal bleeding but it was minimal. It is now under control. The cut to his left hand is superficial. I put a little of that special ointment Artemus brought me after his two-week stay with that Cheyenne medicine man, on the stitches…"

Grant frowned, surprised and then upset. "Artemus stayed two weeks with a Cheyenne Medicine Man? Why I don't know that?"

Richmond intervened. "It was during Artemus's last leave, Sir. That's why. He wasn't on an assignment, so it's not in any report. He spent two weeks with American Knife – you've heard about him. He learnt a lot of things with him: how to make remedies with the local flora and fauna, and even learnt the Cheyenne language. He's fluent in Cheyenne now."

Henderson nodded. "That Indian ointment is going to accelerate the healing, and there should be no scar left after that." He smiled and added, "He's out of danger, and he'll recover fully, given enough time. He'll have to stay here in the hospital for a few days."

Immensely relieved and running a hand on his tired face, President Grant let out a long sigh and said, "He's not going to like it, Stephen. He hates hospitals."

Immensely relieved too, Jim smiled and corrected: "Actually, Sir, Artemus just can't bear hospital food, which he finds just horrible – Artie is a gourmet, you know - but he loves nurses, he really does, and he loves being pampered by them."

Dr. Henderson chuckled. "Well… then I'm sure he's going to like his stay here. All the nurses I met are lovely and adorable."

Immensely relieved too, Colonel Richmond said, "He was on a vacation, now he's on medical leave. What about the assassin, doctor?"

Dr. Henderson removed the stethoscope from his neck and slid it into the pocket of his white coat. "He was operated on with success, and he is out of danger. He hasn't regained consciousness yet. You should be able to interrogate him late afternoon, not before. He was moved into a private room thirty minutes ago, and he's under guard. He won't go anywhere."

Ulysses S. Grant nodded. "Without Artemus's intervention, I would be lying on a table in the morgue right now. That bullet missed my head by only a few inches."

Colonel Richmond nodded too. "That was very close, Sir. We have interrogated everyone, the conductor, the musicians, the singers, and the extras… even the personnel of the opera house. No one knew that man. His name is Nat Hopper, but I suspect a phony name. An extra was needed; he applied for the job and was hired. I'll know more after I interrogate him personally."

Grant sighed. "He's maybe one of those ex-confederate men who want to kill me every now and then because I defeated General Lee and won the war. They think that, me dead, they'll be able to restore the Confederation. But it's been dead for more than ten years now."

Rubbing his chin pensively Jim said, "Maybe, or it could be one of Dr. Loveless henchmen, Sir. He tried to kill the Governor and he escaped and vanished. He loves creating chaos around him, and killing the President of the United States sure would create chaos. A great deal of it."

Richmond nodded. "We'll see. In the meantime I want you to find everything you can on that assassination attempt, Jim. It's a big thing. People know something."

Suddenly the door of the hospital waiting room opened and a busty blond woman, dressed in a red dress with a pink feathered boa around his neck, and holding a handbag entered. "Where is he? Where is he? She asked anxiously. "Is he dead?"

Moving towards her, Jim took her arm, gently. "No, he's not dead. Artemus is going to be alright miss…?"

She started crying. "Bowen, Bessie Bowen."

Jim immediately pulled her into his arms to comfort her. "Sshh… Artie's alright, he's safe."

She sobbed against Jim's shoulder and babbled, "I was so scared… he was hurt… stabbed, no: skewered! I thought that he was dead… Oh my god! Caruso…I mean Artemus, he sang to me in Italian…. It was so wonderful… I loved that. He saved my life, you know? There was a bomb in that big music box… and I was almost vaporized! Caruso, is he alright?"

Grant frowned puzzled. "Caruso?"

Running soothing circles on Miss Bowen's back Jim looked at the President. "Yes, Sir, Arturo Caruso dell' Artemo, my partner's last role during our last assignment: an Italian tenor… Long story, Sir. Artemus protected Miss Bowen from Dr. Loveless."

Miss Bowen sniffed. "He's a baritone not a tenor," she corrected. Then she finally registered the presence of the President of the United States standing next to her, and she blushed in embarrassment. She parted hastily and did a quick curtsy. "Mr. President! It's an honor and a pleasure to meet you."

Ulysses S. Grant smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Bowen. Don't worry, Caruso… I mean Artemus is going to be alright."

Bessie pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and mopped her tears. "You're sure? Because he was stabbed, rather skewered… It was awful."

The door opened again and Signore Modena entered, very pale. He immediately made a beeline towards Jim, grabbed his arm and asked, "Where's my boy? Where's Artemus? Is he alright?"

Jim smiled reassuringly, patting the old man's arm. "He's out of danger. He's going to be alright, don't worry. He's strong." He turned towards Grant and introduced the Italian conductor. "Mr. President, let me introduce you to Signore Giulio Modena, the conductor of the Roma Orchestra. He was Artie's professor of violin and his choirmaster when he was a boy, till he was seventeen."

Surprised, President Grant lifted his eyebrows and reached out. The two men shook hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you Signore Modena."

Giulio Modena smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. President." Then his smile vanished from his face, replaced with worry. " _Artemus sta bene_? Is Artemus alright?"

Grant nodded. "He will be. Don't worry, Signore Modena. Like Jim said, Artemus is strong. He's going to be alright, believe me. The man is indestructible."

Dr. Henderson nodded and looked at Miss Bowen and at Signore Modena. "Yes. Do you want to see him?" They both nodded. "But he's not conscious. He's still sleeping off the anesthesia. He was taken to room 21. Follow me please."

Miss Bowen did a quick curtsy to the President again, and followed the surgeon. Signore Modena bowed his head politely and followed suit.

Grant couldn't help but smile. "Artemus sang to her in Italian? I'm looking forward to reading your report on that assignment, Jim. Then you'll tell me everything about Artemus - and Signore Modena."

Jim hid a smile: Grant was jealous.

WWW

Later

It was late at night when Artemus groggily opened his eyes and blinked rapidly several times, trying to clear his sleep-blurred vision.

His brain was fuzzy. He was confused and disoriented. He brought up one hand to rub at his bleary eyes and then finally registered that he was lying in a bed – not his – there was a blanket covering him, pulled up to his collarbone, a pillow cushioning his head.

He glanced around him, frowning. He was alone in a weakly-lit room – a bare hospital room, he noticed. Feeling his left hand hurting, he lifted it and saw that it was bandaged.

He gasped as the memory flooded back – he had been stabbed! - and he immediately touched his punctured side. It hurt too. A lot. He groaned and grimaced.

Pain was coming in waves – relentless. The drug effects were wearing off. He needed a painkiller, a fast-acting one and he needed it, now!

He licked his dried lips. "Oh boy!" he said, his breathing quickly becoming labored.

He raised his hand and pulled on the cord – activating a bell in the corridor. The night nurse should be there in a few seconds.

Shortly after, the door opened and… Dr. Loveless appeared, sitting in a wheelchair pushed by the giant Voltaire. He was holding a Colt .45.

Immediately Artie reached for his gun – a reflex – and didn't find it, of course. He tried to sit up but let out a strangled cry as a sharp pain pinned him to the bed.

Loveless waved his finger. "Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! You shouldn't move Mr. Gordon, believe me. That assassin – my assassin I should say, skewered you pretty well with his bayonet. You could re-open your wound and bleed a lot." He chuckled. "I was there, in a box with Voltaire when you were singing Fidelio, and I must say that you are very talented. You sing remarkably well. If I really enjoyed the opera I was there mainly to see my assassin kill the President…" He frowned angrily. "But it didn't work the way I had planned it! You intervened and Grant is still alive!"

Gritting his teeth under the assaults of white-hot pain, Artie pulled on the cord activating the bell again. "My duty is to protect the President – so sue me!"

The diminutive man's smiled. "No one is going to help you, Mr. Gordon. I used a knockout gas to neutralize everyone in the hospital."

Lowering his hand, Artie groaned, "What do you want? It's pretty late for a casual conversation."

Loveless sat the gun on his lap. "I came here to kill you, because you and your partner are a thorn in my side, always interfering with my plans. I'm going to start with you, and then I'll dispose of Mr. West. Voltaire wanted to strangle you, slowly, because he liked hurting you in that dark alley. He wanted to kill you there when you were unconscious, but I stopped him. I have principles: one does not kill a man when he's not looking. Then, I changed my mind – oh! I still want to kill you, but not that way. A man like you, so talented, and who loves music and the arts in general I suppose; a man like you needs to die in an artistic way, like at the end of a tragic opera, when the hero dies."

Sweat streaming down his pale face, Artemus curled his right hand into a fist, his knuckles going white and bloodless as he fought against another wave of pain. "I'm sorry, but there's no opera house stage here Dr. Loveless…"

Loveless left the wheelchair. "That wheelchair is not for me, but for you, Mr. Gordon. You didn't finish singing your part in Fidelio, the end is missing. I know that Leonora doesn't die at the end – but I like tragedies, so I've decided to add my personal touch. Leonora will die on the stage… Voltaire?"

Moving off the bed, Artemus stumbled, almost falling to the ground. He grabbed a chair and lifted it to hit Voltaire with… before screaming in agony.

He bit down the nausea that surged through him as the world begins to tilt.

Voltaire's very big hand clamped onto Artemus's throat and threatened to break his wind pipe. "What do you want me to do, Doctor?" He asked.

Dr. Loveless chuckled. "Hit him!"

Snarling, the giant delivered a punch squarely in the other man's side.

Sparks dancing in his vision, Artemus grunted in pain and crumpled in a heap to the floor. He felt his blood soak his bandage and the top of his hospital pajamas, and then he mercifully passed out.

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY OPERA**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 _The next morning_

It was past dawn when James West came back to the hospital. A soon as he entered the hall he knew that something was wrong: unconscious people were lying on the floor: nurses, doctors, visitors, even patients dressed in their hospital pajamas.

His gun in his hand he knelt beside a young nurse and touched her throat: she was still alive, but apparently deeply asleep. He ran towards Artie's room, opened the door and found the bed empty. He spotted traces of blood on the floor and touched a red smudge. "Artie!"

He noticed part of a very large, almost giant footprint in the nearly dry blood – which could belong to one man only: Voltaire.

Loveless had kidnapped Artie! He deduced.

He left the hospital room and met Colonel Richmond in the corridor holding his gun. "Colonel! Loveless has kidnapped Artemus!" he said, very worried.

Richmond nodded. "I just came from the prisoner's room. Nat Hopper is dead. There are marks of strangulation around his neck, left by one sole hand! A very big one."

Jim nodded. "Voltaire's hand no doubt. I was right, Sir. Hopper worked for Loveless and Loveless ordered his giant henchman to kill the man because he could testify against him. Loveless wanted to kill the President, Sir." He looked down at his hand reddened with Artie's blood. "I have to find Artie, and I think I know where Loveless has taken him. I'm going to need the help of the local police."

Colonel Richmond nodded. "I'll give the orders."

WWW

 _Later in the opera house_

 _On the stage, curtain closed_

Miguelito Loveless looked up at his unconscious prisoner tied to a pole (he had found it in the props along with some ropes), proud of himself. While the agent was passed out, he had dressed Artemus Gordon in Leonora's clothes (he had found a dress in his dressing room and had found his long haired wig abandoned on the stage) over his pajamas soaked in blood.

He clapped his hands in glee and then kicked the bleeding agent's leg. "Come on Mr. Gordon! Wake up! You don't want to miss the grand finale, don't you? Your grand finale." But Artie remained dead to the world. Annoyed, Loveless looked up at Voltaire. "Slap him!"

Smiling, the giant slapped Artemus once, twice and… Artie slowly cracked open his eyes, which were bloodshot and raw.

Voltaire took a step backward. "He's awake," he said.

Loveless grinned. "Ah! Mr. Gordon, it's good to see you awake." He gestured towards the four goons dressed as soldiers standing behind Voltaire. They held a rifle each: a Winchester 73. "Gentlemen, stand ready for the coming execution." He looked up at Artie, barely conscious and kicked the man's leg again. "Stay awake for your execution Mr. Gordon – or I should say, Leonora."

Groaning, Artie whispered, "Leonora wasn't executed in the opera…"

Loveless nodded. "I know, but I decided to change the end of the opera. I told you, I like tragedies. You're bleeding to death – I'm going to shorten your suffering by doing so." He lifted his hand and the fake guards took a step forward. They aimed at Artie. "Do you have something to say before meeting your inevitable death Mr. Gordon?"

Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Artemus nodded weakly. But he was smiling. "Yes, two words: turn around…" He rasped. Then he blacked out.

Miguelito Loveless frowned, puzzled, then he turned around and let out a gasp of surprise: Jim West was pointing his Colt at him. He saw too, that two policemen holding guns were framing him. A dozen others were aiming their rifles at the fake guards.

He scowled. "You have just ruined everything Mr. West!"

Looking down at the diminutive man with a fierce look, Jim said: "I saved my partner's life. Drop your weapons! Hands up!"

The henchmen complied and lifted their hands above their heads.

Loveless grimaced. He didn't like bad surprises, and even less to feel trapped like a rat. He didn't want to be sent in prison either, he thought.

He raised his hands and moved backward towards the edge of the stage – Voltaire doing the same. "You're partner is dying, Mr. West. I think that you should say goodbye to him before it's too late." He waited for the other secret agent to look at Artemus – which he did – and slid to the wooden floor of the orchestra pit, before disappearing into an opening beneath the stage.

Immediately, the giant Voltaire followed his master with less agility. When two policemen tried to enter in their turn, a thick cloud of red smoke made them retreat. They coughed, their nose and throat irritated, their eyes red and watering as if they had received pepper in them.

Moving towards Artemus, Jim, upset, ordered: "Search the whole place! Find them!" But he was sure Loveless and his giant henchman were long gone.

Using his knife he rapidly freed his partner, and gently laid him to the floor of the stage, cringing as he saw the set of bruises around his throat.

Artemus slowly regained consciousness. He peeled his eyes open and they fluttered. "Jim…" He whispered weakly.

Smiling Jim said, "Got you buddy, everything's going to be alright. You're safe. You'll be back to the hospital in no time."

Closing his eyes, Artie nodded and soon he drifted off to a welcome darkness.

WWW

 _Much later in the Wanderer on its way to Washington_

 _Parlor car_

President Grant folded the San Francisco Gazette, which headlined "President Grant narrowly escapes death in the San Francisco Opera House" on the table, took a sip of coffee and then he grimaced. "Where did you learn to make coffee Jim? It's really awful," he said, forthright as usual.

Dr. Henderson didn't even take his full cup, abandoning it on the table. "I know where, during the war. People needed strong coffee to stay awake," he said.

Grant nodded. "That beverage could revive dead people! ... It's as thick as molasses and as bitter as old vinegar, even with two pieces of sugar in it!"

Feeling a bit huffy, Jim said, "I'm sorry, Mr. President, Doctor. I have always prepared coffee that way. For my defense, it's Artemus who usually prepare coffee and… breakfast, and lunch and dinner too, and brunch sometimes. The galley is his domain."

The swinging door suddenly opened and said Artemus Gordon appeared, his hair wild, with dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks unshaven. His face was pale and drawn, showing lines of deep fatigue. He was dressed in his pajamas and robe, both unbuttoned. He was barefoot and had his hand pressed on his bandaged aching side.

Frowning in concern Jim said, "Artie? I thought you were sleeping. What are you doing up? You should be in your bed!"

Half-asleep Artemus mumbled, "Morning." He suddenly swayed on wobbly legs. "Oooh! The room's spinning, not good," he whimpered.

Stephen Henderson immediately sprang to his feet and maneuvered his patient towards the sofa, where Artie sat down gingerly, wincing. "Jim is right, Artemus, you should be in your bed, resting. I don't want to stitch your wound again." He checked Artie's pulse and touched his forehead. "Your heart rate is a bit elevated and you're running a mild fever." He stood and headed towards the desk where his black bag was sitting. He opened it and took out a glass bottle containing a brown liquid. Taking a large spoon from the table, he filled it with the thick syrup and approached Artie's mouth. "Open up!"

Frowning, Artie shot a black look at the physician. "I'm not a child! – Sir." He took the spoon, and sniffed the dark brow liquid with an expression of disgust. "Ugh!"

Colonel Henderson frowned and ordered. "Swallow that, it's good for you."

Hesitating for a couple of seconds, Artemus finally and reluctantly swallowed the syrup. He immediately grimaced in revulsion and coughed. "Gaaaaaaah!" and gave the spoon back to Henderson. "What's that horrible stuff? It's even worse than Jim's coffee!"

Henderson chuckled softly. "I know, it tastes awful, but your fever will be ancient history in a couple of hours. It's an old remedy coming from my grandmother."

Still grimacing, Artie wiped his tongue on his robe sleeve – like a child. "I should introduce you to American Knife, Doctor, he has Cheyenne remedies that taste awful too – no offense to your grandmother, or you, Sir." Then he whined, "I don't want to stay in my bed. I'm bored to death in my bed."

Jim chuckled. "Sometimes, Artie's behaves like a child when he's sick. I don't know why. Artemus Gordon aged forty four becomes a six-year old boy." And giggled when Artemus shot him a black look, before sticking his tongue out at him. "See?"

Grant smiled and then suspiciously eyed the plate of chocolate-covered biscuits sitting on the middle of the table beside the coffee pot, wondering if he was not going to eat something resembling chocolate pebbles on which he was going to break his teeth.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes in front of Grant, Jim said, "Artie made them, Sir. Not me. There's no risk you can't like them. They're delicious."

Artemus frowned, puzzled, suddenly realizing something. "Why am I here in the Wanderer and not at the hospital?"

The President took one chocolate-covered biscuit and looked at Artemus. "Why? Because you weren't safe at the hospital with Loveless and Voltaire still at large, son. So I decided to bring you back home, to the Wanderer. Stephen is going to take care of you here, then, once back in Washington you'll go to the Military Hospital to finish your convalescence there." He saw Artemus opening his mouth to protest, eyebrows knitted, and he added with both a commanding voice and a stern look, "That's an order, Major, no discussion!" Then he pointed at the swing door, "And you're going to go back to your bed, now. We will talk later."

Still in child-mode Artie pouted. Grant kept his face severe. "It's not going to work. Bed, now!"

The Secret Services officer straightened his spine, suppressing a wince as his punctured side twinged. "Yes, Sir." Then his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Going back to bed."

Henderson helped Artie to stand. Jim offered his partner his arm. "Come on buddy. I think I have some good dime novels in my room. I'm going to lend them to you. You won't be bored anymore."

Grinning, Artie said, "No, I'll be dead of boredom." He looked at Grant. "Are you and Dr. Henderson traveling with us, Sir?"

The President nodded. "Yes, but not on the same train. Mine is following the Wanderer. But I'll pay you some visits from time to time, of course." He smirked. "And if you still are bored, Artemus, I could use a secretary the time we reach the Capital. You did a remarkable job when you were stuck in my tent after Jim shot you at Petersburg. I still remember that."

Turning white, Artie looked at Jim. "I think I'm going to enjoy your dime novels, Jim. See you later gentlemen; I'm going to bed, as ordered."

Grant chuckled.

WWW

 _Later_

Holding a cup of coffee - which he had prepared himself and added a secret ingredient (bourbon) to it that he had found in the sideboard of the kitchen, Ulysses S. Grant sat on a chair beside Artemus Gordon's bed. The other man was sleeping and snoring lightly, an open dime novel resting on his chest.

He smiled as he saw Artie's eyes flutter open. Like his agent, he slept with one eye open since the war, he mused.

He knew too, that Artemus, as a former spy in permanent danger of being captured and then hanged, when on a mission had developed the ability to detect someone approaching him when sleeping: a sixth sense. That talent had saved his life several times.

He ended his reflection there and asked, "How are you feeling, Artemus?"

Slowly, gently, Artie pushed himself into a sitting position and, with a wince, touched an exploratory hand to his punctured side. "Like I've been stabbed with a bayonet, Sir. It's a first for me. I have been shot with bullets and arrows; I have been whipped, burnt, and stabbed with assorted knives… but never with a bayonet." He took the cup of coffee that the President held out to him. "Thank you, Sir."

He took a tentative sip, smiled and said, "It's not Jim's coffee. You prepared it, Sir." He gave Grant a knowing look. "I recognize that secret ingredient…" Then he gulped it in three swallows. "The last time I drank your special coffee was after the battle of Appomattox Court House."

Grant nodded. "I remember. It was on the morning of April 9, 1865… and I remember too that you drank a whole bottle of my secret ingredient after that coffee, but you needed it to dull the pain until Stephen could take care of you – you had a bullet in your leg and lost a good pint of blood on your horse."

Artie rapidly built a pillow fort behind his back, against the bulkhead, then leaned against it, hand pressed on his throbbing side. "I had crossed the enemy lines at full gallop – took a bullet in my leg, and my horse took a dozen of them at least… he died under me just in front of your tent Sir… it was a good horse, gentle, big and strong… I still miss him."

Grant moved to the side of the bed. "I wanted to thank you, Artemus. You saved my life at the opera – again. I'm going to give you a commendation for that."

Pleased and proud, Artie smiled broadly. "Thank you Sir."

Grant chuckled. "I wanted to tell you too, that I really loved your performance. You sing remarkably well Artemus, I was very impressed."

Pleased and proud - again, Artie smiled - again. "Thank you Sir. But I was unable to finish the opera and I regret it. The end was close when that assassin fired at you."

Grant nodded. "And he missed, because of you. Thank you again. Jim told me that you learned playing the piano at six along with the violin."

Placing the empty on bedside table, Artie said, "Yes Sir. I learned to play all the instruments I could put my hands on: the flute, the drum, the guitar… and I was singing in the local choir too." He frowned. "Do you want me to play something for you?"

Grant nodded. "I'd like to hear you play the piano, Artemus. If of course, you agree. I don't want to force you. The annual masked ball ar the White House is scheduled in two weeks. You could perhaps play a piece or two, I would be pleased."

Artemus grinned. "With great pleasure, Sir. But I'd like to stay incognito. I don't want to be recruited again by some maestro. I just want to be a special agent."

He already knew what he was going to play. He knew those pieces by heart.

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY OPERA**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 _Two weeks later_

 _The White House_

President Grant, wearing a black mask, hit his glass of Champagne with a spoon and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, May I have your attention, please."

Everyone in the vast ballroom froze and became progressively silent.

Grant smiled and added, "I have a surprise for you tonight! A musical entertainment." He gestured towards the masked man standing beside him. "Please."

Disguised as a masked and (phony) mustachioed musketeer wearing a long dark curly wig, Artemus Gordon sat at the piano. He lowered his head and placed his fingers on the keyboard, not doing anything for one minute, concentrating.

President Grant and Julia his wife took places on a sofa next to the pianist and the instrument. People in the vast ballroom silently gathered all around.

Eyes closed Artie smiled. He wouldn't play one piece or two as Grant thought, he would give a mini-concert. The President would be surprised and very pleased.

Artemus Gordon started to play. Eyes still closed, focused on the music and enjoying each second of it, Artemus played five pieces, his favorites: Gordon played Chopin: _Nocturne in E-flat major, Op. 9, No. 2_ ; Franz Liszt: _Liebestraum_ – _love's dream_ ; Beethoven: _Sonata al chiaro di luna – Moonlight sonata_ ; Franz Liszt (again): _Hungarian Rhapsody n° 2_. And he ended his mini concert with Ludwig Beethoven: _Für Elise_.

People in the vast room listened to the music religiously – in total silence, with total awe. It's was absolutely wonderful.

Opening his eyes, Artie noticed that his cheeks were wet with tears. He wasn't surprised. Each time he had played those pieces he had cried. They were so beautiful.

He stood, bowed and accepted the glass of Champagne that Grant held out. He took a sip. "Thank you Mr. President," he said.

Grant smiled. "No, thank you Sir, that was wonderful." Julia, crying, nodded. "You play marvelously well, _Monsieur le Mousquetaire_."

Then everyone in the room applauded – and it lasted five minutes.

Bowing again, Artie said, "Thank you," then he swallowed his Champagne, gave the empty glass to a servant and headed towards Jim standing between two lovely ladies wearing XVII" century gold and blue dresses, one on each arm: twins!

But he was intercepted on his way by a blond woman wearing a middle-aged princess costume and a red-feathered boa. He immediately recognized her. "Bessie!" He beamed. "What a wonderful surprise!"

She kissed his cheek. "The President invited me! Oh Caruso! That music, it was so beautiful I cried – I mean Artemus." She took his arm and glanced around her at all the women who, entranced by the music - and more by the masked player - wanted to get acquainted with Artemus.

Shooting an icy glare at each of them, Bessie, possessive, groaned, "He's taken!" And, tangling her fingers languidly in Artie's thick black-haired wig, she gave him a devouring and long possessive kiss, leaving Artemus breathless.

Surprised at first, Artie then kissed her back – quickly, almost chastely, blushing. "Bessie, love… perhaps we could do that later, elsewhere, not in front of everyone."

But it didn't stop a red-haired woman wearing a Spanish costume with a plunging décolleté (complete with a fan) to move on Artemus like a falcon on its prey.

She placed her hand on Artie's arm, a sly and flirtatious smile on her face, and she cooed, "It was absolutely marvelous Mr. Musketeer…" She took his hand in hers, observing his long fingers and said, "You have such wonderful hands… My name is Chiara." Then she kissed Artie's cheek and then his neck.

Embarrassed Artemus blushed and smiled. "Thank you…" He said.

Bessie glared at the other woman. "In case you haven't heard, Caruso, I mean Artemus is taken," she repeated and added, "he's mine."

Raising a hand in a peace gesture, Artie said, "Please ladies…" And frowned when he found himself face to face with – apparently - the jealous husband. "Sir, I didn't do anything… "

The man, dressed like a bearded pirate, pulled out the sword from his large colored belt, and frowning with anger he said, "I saw you, Sir. You were flirting with my wife!"

Artie shook his head. "I don't want to be indelicate, but actually, it was your wife who kissed me, Sir. It is she who is flirting with me and not me flirting with her."

Frowning angrily the pirate growled, "You have just insulted my wife, " _En garde_ _Monsieur_!"

Musketeer-Artie didn't move. "Sir, nothing happened. I'm not interested in the lady – your lady," he explained, as he had two women at his side. "And this is not the place to have a swordfight. The President is looking at us, Sir. Please, lower your sword."

Costumed as a matador, Jim took a step forward and looking at the pretend pirate, said, "If I were you I would do that, Sir. My friend here is very good with a sword, and as it's a real one, you could end up in hospital, wounded."

Rolling his eyes Artie said, "You're not helping, Jim. And it's a rapier – musketeers had rapiers, with good solid and sharp blades."

The pretend pirate smiled. "I'm pretty good too, and my sword is a real one. Let's see who's better and who is going to end in hospital." He said.

Crossing his arms on his chest, Artemus shook his head. "I'm not going to swordfight with you, Sir. Put your sword back where it was." He sighed as his opponent's blade came crashing against his own. He pushed the other man's sword away. "Sir, don't! Please."

The red-haired woman took a step back and joined her husband. "He doesn't want to fight! Give him a lesson, Harry. He's a coward!" and she regretted her kisses.

Bessie Bowden sent a black look at the other woman. "He's no coward! He's brave! He's the one who's going to give a lesson to your man - Blackbeard!"

Blackbeard leapt forward. Artie easily blocked the swing of the other man's sword and sidestepped Harry's second thrust, blocking his following slash with his sword sweeping the enemy blade downward into a prone position, and as his opponent teetered forward, he stepped in and sharply hit him in the gut with his knee. Harry moved back, bent over wheezing.

Grant moved towards the two swordfighters. "That's enough gentlemen, "he said.

Nodding Artie lowered and sheathed his sword. "Yes, Sir."

But Blackbeard didn't want to stop. He attacked Artemus, who in a split second pulled out his sword and leapt back. He glanced at Grant. "I'm sorry, Sir, but that gentleman doesn't want to stop. May I have your authorization to force him to yield, Sir?"

The President nodded. "Granted." Then he took a couple of steps back.

Blackbeard lunged toward his opponent. Artemus immediately arched his body backward to avoid a quick thrust from the other man – and let out a groan, feeling his recent injury ache. It had healed nicely, but his side was still fragile, he realized. He skillfully parried a combination attack from his adversary, and then conducted an attack of his own. Their swords clashed.

Blackbeard attacked, but Artie expected his every move and cleverly dodged every strike. He laughed off each failure. "You won't win, Sir."

He attacked, but Blackbeard managed to block two swings before Artemus poked his stomach with the tip of his sword. "Yield, now."

Enraged, the pretend-pirate continued with a few powerful swings, all of which the pretend musketeer blocked with ease.

Blackbeard attacked again, faster, stronger. Artemus fought, ducked, parried and blocked each of the other man's moves. Then he took the offensive, slashing and pushing. He launched into a series of thrusts and lunges that overwhelmed his adversary. The swordfight was short but intense, ending with Blackbeard the pirate flat on his back, sword pointed at his throat.

His face cold and calm, Artemus pressed a little more and a drop of blood beaded on the skin. "Do you yield?" He asked.

Harry nodded, admitting defeat. "I yield."

Smiling in victory, taking a step back, Artemus saluted, then he sheathed his sword. Then under new applause he joined Jim and Bessie.

Patting his partner's shoulder with admiration Jim smiled. "Good job Artie!"

Bessie Bowen wrapped her arms around Artie's waist and kissed him again. "You were formidable! That man didn't stand a chance against you."

Pulling the blond woman into his arms, Artie playfully kissed the tip of her nose. "Thank you." And he kissed her back. "What about a cup of Champagne – but somewhere else? I'm going to call a cab."

She smiled. "Good idea."

Artie smiled too. "Let's say goodnight to the President and Mrs. Grant, first."

WWW

 _Much later that night_

 _Washington railroad yard depot_

Once Bessie and he had both left the cab, Artemus untied his horse from the rear part of the vehicle and gestured towards the train. "End of our promenade, my dear. This is it!" he said to Bessie. Then he patted the chestnut gelding's head. "Time to go home, big boy."

Holding Artie's free hand, Bessie looked at the Wanderer, amazed. "You live in a train! I didn't know that you were rich!"

Shaking his head Artemus said, "I'm not. I don't own that train, it belongs to the Government, but I consider it as my home. It has a name, the _Wanderer_ – because my partner and I are wandering a lot throughout the whole country in it. I share it with Jim West, my partner: you met him earlier at the ball, but he won't come back before morning."

Miss Bowen was surprised. "You don't have a real home?"

Leading his date towards the rear platform of the Wanderer, Artie shook his head. "Like a house? No, perhaps after I retire, if I can retire someday. With my kind of profession, I could end up very dead with a bullet in my chest before I get a single gray hair. But it's okay, I accepted it a long time ago. It's part of the job. I never had any real home before the Wanderer. I left my mom's home when I was seventeen, and I have traveled a lot since then. I lived in cheap hotel rooms or in cargo holds on showboats. I've slept in livery stables between horses, or beneath the sky on a bedroll, or under tents during the war, and I've spent quite some time in hospital rooms too. I had almost no belongings before I put my bags on board. Now I have everything I need, it's like a home on tracks, and I even a laboratory for myself. I will show you it later…"

Bessie smiled and kissed her cavalier's cheek playfully, her eyes twinkling, playing with her feathered boa. "And the rest of the train too, I hope..."

Smiling, Artie removed his wig and phony mustache, and put them in the saddle-bag. "With pleasure."

They both crossed the platform when two men holding guns intercepted them, coming out from behind crates and boxes.

Spotting a pole with a ring, Artemus tied the reins of his horse there and calmly unsheathed the rapier he still had at his side.

He took a defensive position protecting Bessie with his own body. "Stay behind me," he said to her and she did just that. He suddenly saw a tall shadow in the corner of his eye and whirled.

He yelped when Voltaire closed a hand around his wrist to disarm him – breaking it at the same time. Grimacing in pain he dropped his rapier to the ground.

Frightened Bessie wrapped herself around Artie's back, trembling.

Dr. Miguelito Loveless appeared, walking between the two armed henchmen. "Ah! It's a pleasure to see you again Mr. Gordon. And you too, Miss Bowen."

Holding his broken wrist against his stomach, Artie glared at the diminutive man. "What do you want? End the unfinished job?" He hissed through clenched teeth.

Loveless grinned. "Ah! It's such a pleasure to discourse with intelligent people. Yes, Mr. Gordon. I was going to have you killed when I was unpleasantly interrupted by your partner and those policemen." He snapped his fingers and then pointed a finger downwards. "Nice costume by the way. I hope that you enjoyed your * last * _bal costumé_ _Monsieur le Mousquetaire_. I never leave a job unfinished. Voltaire!"

The giant immediately pushed Bessie to the side as though she were a mere fly. She crashed against a crate, hard, half-opening it in the process. The young woman hit her head against solid wood, and collapsed to the ground, passed out.

Then pressing his very large hand on Artie's head, Voltaire forced the other man to kneel down on the ground. Artie couldn't resist.

Once Artemus Gordon was on his knees, Voltaire kept him like that, his powerful fingers applying strong pressure on the other man's skull.

Miguelito Loveless moved closer to Artie, rubbing his hands with glee, appreciating Artemus's grimace of intense pain. "It's too bad I don't have a firing squad with me. But I'll take great pleasure to see my men put a bullet in your head anyway, Mr. Gordon. I don't like pesky federal agents interfering with my schemes. It will be an execution too."

He nodded and the two goons moved towards Artemus. They took places either side of Artie, put the mouths of their guns on the other man's temples, and then moved to the side in order not to be hit but their own bullet. Smiling, they cocked the hammers back.

Prudent, Voltaire moved back a little – still crushing Artie's head.

Loveless raised Artie's chin. "One last thing to say perhaps?"

Tears of pain rolling down his face, Artie shot a black look to the other man. "I thought that you wanted to kill me in an artistic way?" he rasped.

Loveless nodded. "You're right, that's true. But I changed my mind. The scientist-me took over from the aesthetic-me and I wanted to know if the reputedly indestructible Artemus Gordon, who survived after being shot and stabbed so many times - is really indestructible. I love scientific experiments so I wanted to see if you would to be able to survive with a blown up head. I think not."

Shooting an icy look at the other man, Artie groaned, "Kill me, and Jim West is going to make you pay for this, personally. It will be a very slow and very painful death."

Loveless grinned. "Your threat doesn't scare me Mr. Gordon. Your partner will be next and dead people can't harm." He nodded and moved back. "Gentlemen. Stand ready."

Fearless, strong and courageous, Artemus Gordon looked Miguelito Loveless right in the eye. He was silent but his look spoke volumes.

Loveless smirked. "Your hate for me will vanish when your brain explodes, Mr. Gordon. I don't care. I will say goodbye to Mr. West for you, before he dies too." He looked around him. The place was totally deserted. "Your partner won't save you this time."

He suddenly jumped and moved back hurriedly as dozens of fireworks landed at his feet. Others rained all around him. "What the…"

Surprised, Miguelito Loveless looked to his left and saw Bessie Bowen – holding a petrol lamp, lit. He blanched and said "No!"

Bessie Bowen's heart hammered in her chest when she sent the petrol lamp flying through the air. "Bad, bad little man!" She said.

WWW

Seeing fireworks coming from the railroad yard where the Wanderer was stationed, Jim West immediately knew that something was wrong. He dismounted quickly, un-holstered his gun and ran there at top speed to discover Bessie Bowen sitting on the ground next to a pile of crates, holding his partner in her lap.

She was crying.

His blood turning cold in his veins with dread, Jim crouched beside Artie, half-lying on the ground. He touched his arm and noticed that his companion was grimacing in pain – thus was still alive. He let out a sigh of relief and asked, "Artie! You okay buddy?"

Mumbling something that sounded like "do I look okay to you?" The other man groggily opened his eyes. "Oh boy! Bad, gigantic headache…"

Looking at the blond woman, Jim placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. "He's okay, he's okay. What happened here?"

Bessie wiped her tears with her sleeve. "That evil little man, Dr. Loveless. He wanted to kill Artemus! I threw fireworks at him and then a lamp. There was a big explosion as the fireworks exploded and they all left. I managed to bring Artemus here, a safe place. He wasn't injured but… that giant man held his head and he was hurt. I was so scared, I don't want him to die…his horse was scared too and it's gone."

Jim was sincerely impressed. "You were very courageous Miss Bowen. You saved Artemus's life." He shook Artie's hand. "He's not going to die. Can you stand buddy?" Closing his eyes again, Artemus went limp, passed out. "I think not."

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY OPERA**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _Later, in the parlor car of the Wanderer_

Lying on his bed, Artemus regained consciousness slowly and immediately grimaced in pain. His broken wrist hurt like hell!

He noticed Jim sitting on stool beside him. "Hiya Jim," he said glancing at the plaster wrapped around his injured limb, from the last bones in his hand to above the bend of his arm. "I'm not going to be able to play the violin for quite some time, I guess."

Jim nodded. "Doctor Henderson came when you were passed out, Artie. He reduced the fracture and gave you a cast. He said that your wrist will heal nice and that you won't have any aftereffects. He'll come back later to check on you."

Massaging his aching skull, Artie moaned. "Oh boy! I thought that Voltaire was going to crush my head as easily as a nut shell," he said before pulling himself into a sitting position. He grimaced under the assaults of a pounding headache. "What happened?"

Bessie entered the sleeping compartment holding a basin filled with water and a flannel. She sat on the edge of the bed. "I saved your life." She said.

Blinking in surprise Artie said, "You did? Thank you. Thank you so much!"

Bessie wetted the flannel and dabbed it on Artie's face. "I did, yes. I threw fireworks at the bad men, then threw a lit lamp at them. They exploded. I put you in safety while Loveless and his men fled. Then Jim was there. You lost consciousness and he brought you here."

Frowning in worry, Artemus brushed the bruised bump the blond woman had on the top of her forehead – where it had met the crate. "You're hurt."

She smiled. "I'm alright, that's nothing," she said. "Jim put a little ointment that you made on it a few minutes ago, that bruised bump should have vanished by tomorrow." She stroked his stubbled jaw tenderly. "I didn't know that you were a chemist, Artemus."

Artie nodded. "My father was a pharmacist. I learnt a lot of thing from him, and later, in secondary school I took scientific courses, in addition to English and history and performing arts. I studied mathematics, physics, biology and chemistry. I chose to study other sciences like geology, anatomy, astronomy and technology. Then I became an actor for a few years before traveling all around the world as a sailor, learning some foreign languages on the way. Then I went to Harvard University where I specialized in chemistry and mechanical engineering. I became an actor again after that, since the war. Let's say that I have a scientific background."

Bessie was impressed. "Whoa, Artemus! You're a genius." Then she nestled in his arms. "Sing me something, like you did the last time, when we were sitting on that staircase."

Patting his partner's arm Jim said, "See you later buddy." Then he left. He closed the door behind him and headed to the parlor car.

Pulling Bessie in his arms, Artie kissed her lips tenderly before singing with his tenor voice: " _La donna è mobile. Qual piuma al vento, muta d'accento e di pensiero. Sempre un amabile, leggiadro viso, in pianto o in riso, è menzognero…"_ _* *_

** Giuseppe Fortunino Francesco Verdi, Rigoletto (1851), _La donna è mobile_.

The end


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